


Have I Told You...?

by c3mf



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c3mf/pseuds/c3mf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not exactly <i>in vino veritas</i>, but it's no less true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have I Told You...?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic meme [here](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=4664018#cmt4664018).
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Thought I'd try my hand at slash. This was the result.

For once Douglas was the one who had the hotel room to himself while Martin and Arthur braved the sweltering heat. He was more than happy to send them on their merry way (though it was mostly Arthur’s merry way, with a reluctant Martin unfortunately caught up in his wake). Nothing short of a natural disaster was going to convince Douglas to willfully abandon the comfort of the hotel’s A/C. He had no desire to discover how much prolonged heat exposure it took to dehydrate the human body.

Instead he was thoroughly going to enjoy having the room to himself without being tempted with the urge to mock Martin (the boy made it far too easy really, and it would be wrong of Douglas to let those opportunities pass by) or spin grandiose tales for Arthur (simply to see how long it would take for him to figure out that none of it was actually true).

He was picking through the remains of his mediocre—but at least fairly edible—room service dinner when his mobile trilled out the Muppets’ theme.

“Hello, Arthur,” he answered. “Track down that dolphin sushi yet?”

“Um, no, actually,” Arthur replied distractedly. “Um, I… Actually, I think something’s wrong with Skip. He’s all… wibbley.”

There was the thrum of a baseline in the background, the din of a large crowd and shouted orders for food and drinks. Arthur had to raise his voice to be heard over all of it.

Douglas sighed. “What you see before you, Arthur—assuming it’s Martin you’re looking at—”

“It is.”

“Then what you’re bearing witness to is an inebriated Martin in need of a stool.”

“You see,” Arthur said, “that’s what I thought too. Only I tried that and he’s _still_ all wibbley. And he’s only had one drink—we’ve _both_ only had one drink. I counted. Oi, hold on!”

Arthur’s voice dropped off abruptly, like he had lowered the phone. Douglas could just barely make out him persuading Martin back into his seat. There was a bit of shuffling, a bit of garbled complaint from Martin before Arthur came back on the line, voice wavering anxiously. “Um, right, sorry about that…”

Douglas was already slipping on his shoes. “Just tell me where you are.”

Arthur quickly rattled off the address, alternately pleading with Martin to stay put.

“Stay with him,” Douglas said. “I’m on my way.”

~*~

Douglas found Martin and Arthur fifteen minutes later crammed into a rickety booth in the back of the most garish tiki bar he had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on. Arthur had settled himself on the outside of the booth, arms folded uneasily across the tabletop as he traded restless glances between Martin and the rest of the bar.

As soon as he spotted Douglas the tightly-pinched worry between his eyes melted and the tension drained from his shoulders. Martin, however, didn’t do anything more than throw a limp arm over Arthur’s and rub his face languidly against Arthur’s sleeve. It must not have been the first time because Arthur didn’t so much as twitch.

“I don’t know what happened,” Arthur began all at once. “Everything was fine before… And then it just _wasn’t_. Skip went all funny like he’d had too much to drink, only he hadn’t because I told you I counted, and I’ve seen Skip drunk before and…” He glanced over at Martin, who was currently nestling into his side and the worry returned. “Skip’s all silly and giggly and… not _this_.”

Douglas curled a comforting hand around Arthur’s shoulder before he pulled him up out of the booth. Martin groaned at the loss of contact and listed into the empty space Arthur had left.

“Why don’t you go grab us a taxi?” Douglas suggested, propelling Arthur towards the doors. “He’ll be fine. Go on.”

After Arthur had disappeared into the crowd, Douglas slipped into the booth and peeled Martin from the vinyl of the backrest so he could take a proper look at him. Martin leaned into his touch with a happy little noise, tipping his head to push his jaw further into Douglas’s palm. His cheeks were flushed bright and high, his pupils blown so wide the black almost completely eclipsed the blue. Douglas recognized the dreamy glaze to Martin’s eyes and the looseness to all of his joints, limp, pliant and so easily manipulated.

Anger slow-burned through Douglas’s gut. “One would think you were old enough to know you always watch your drink in a crowded bar,” he growled. He tamped the anger down to embers and sighed. There was no way to find the culprit and taking his frustrations out on Martin was just counterproductive.

Martin blinked lethargically, his gaze wandering until it finally fixed blearily on Douglas’s face. “I can watch myself,” he told him just a tad unsteadily, even as he slumped bonelessly against Douglas. He hummed and nuzzled into the hand Douglas still had around his jaw. “You’ve lovely hands,” he mumbled into Douglas’s shirt. “So nice and cool…”

Rather than comment—the subtlety of a good mocking would be wasted anyway—Douglas slid a steady arm around Martin’s waist, carefully hauled him upright and steered them towards the exit.

~*~

The cab ride back to the hotel, while short, alternated between uncomfortably awkward and increasingly entertaining. Arthur was still convinced it was all his fault and Martin collapsing against him and twining their fingers together somehow seemed to solidify that.

Douglas didn’t manage to discern a word out of Martin’s lisped monologue, but Arthur stayed completely still—rigidly so—until Douglas took pity on him and prised Martin’s fingers from his hand. Douglas wrapped an arm around Martin’s shoulders, effectively pinning Martin to his side. Arthur flashed him a grateful, if watery, smile and slumped against the cab door.

Martin wasn’t bothered by any of it and instead took an unhealthy interest in curling and uncurling his hands around Douglas’s forearm, the pads of his fingers pressing, then releasing just as quickly.

Douglas just leant back in his seat and closed his eyes. He had the feeling it would be the only bit of rest he would get for the remainder of the night.

~*~

Wrestling Martin out of the cab and up to their rooms proved to be a little more challenging. Not because Martin was deadweight, but because he absolutely refused to stay still. It wasn't that he was manic in his movements, but it was as though every bone in his body had liquefied and he stumbled under Douglas’s and Arthur’s gentle corralling with all the incoordination of someone half-asleep.

Douglas sent Arthur to his own room with the firm assurance that Martin would be right as rain come morning—though probably suffering from the mother of all hangovers—and that no, it wasn’t his fault. No, there wasn’t anything else he could do except get a good night’s sleep.

Douglas guided Martin into their room and deposited Martin on his own bed, where he proceeded to spread his arms, fingers splaying against the sheets, obscenely arch his back, and bare the long, flushed column of his throat.

“It’s hot here,” he moaned, raising a hand to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “God, why is it so hot here?”

“Curious thing about the equator,” Douglas quipped as he toed off his shoes. “The closer you get to it, the more the average temperature rises. Sadly though, the temperature doesn’t have much to do with you at the moment. Oh, lie still.” Exasperatedly, Douglas shooed Martin’s hands away and undid the rest of the buttons for him. “Do you think you’ll need help with the rest?”

Instead of answering, Martin elected to watch him, slack-jawed, his half-lidded eyes distractedly vacant. A moment later, he trailed his hand up Douglas’s sleeve, fingers tripping up the fabric, his gaze tracking their slow advance.

“Having fun?” Douglas asked, wavering between mild irritation and piqued amusement. Once he was certain Martin was well on his way back to being normal, Douglas fully intended to use this embarrassing ammo to have a field day—tactfully, of course. Nothing ruined a good mocking more than a flippant disregard for time and place.

“Like a thermal updraft,” Martin murmured, as though it made absolute sense. Douglas knew better than to ask or argue.

As gently as Douglas could, he unhooked Martin’s fingers from his sleeve and undid Martin’s cuffs. Martin let his arm dangle from Douglas’s grip, and didn’t sound a word of protest when Douglas tugged at his free arm to undo the other.

“Lovely hands,” Martin breathed. “I like them.”

Douglas’s lips tugged up into a smile despite himself. “So you say now. We’ll see how your story changes come morning.”

“It won’t change. Why would it change? It’s the truth.”

“ _In vino veritas_ doesn’t quite apply tonight, I don’t think,” Douglas told him, and watched as Martin’s brows furrowed. “Never mind. You won’t remember any of this when you wake up tomorrow.”

“Won’t I?”

“Probably not.” Douglas straightened, tapped one of Martin’s knees and fought off a laugh when Martin automatically lifted his leg. He balanced Martin’s heel against his chest and started on the laces of his shoe. As soon as he pulled the shoe off, Martin curled toes against his chest and giggled.

Douglas just shook his head and prompted Martin to give him the other leg. He was well aware how ridiculous this was, even more so when Martin refused to put his feet down and instead dug his heels into Douglas’s shoulders. _Utterly_ ridiculous.

Martin wriggled and arched his back again, his breath tinged with the last remnants of barely stifled laughter. The flush had spread down his neck by now, fanning out across his collarbone and blooming in tiny splotches over his chest, clashing horribly with his multitude of freckles. When Douglas wrapped his hands around Martin’s ankles, he was struck by just how fine boned Martin was, feeling the press of bone cut into his palms.

“Come on then,” Douglas said, shifting Martin’s feet carefully to one side. “Let’s get you settled.”

Martin was too caught up in overheated, tactile bliss to bother concentrating on something as dully unimportant as sleep. Douglas had expected he would have to do his fair share of persuading and prodding, just as he had expected Martin’s general jelly-limbed compliance.

What Douglas didn’t expect when he leaned over to help Martin up though was for Martin to hook a leg round either side of his hips and completely unbalance him. Douglas threw out his hands, bracing himself on the mattress and framing Martin between his arms. Martin gathered handfuls of Douglas’s shirt and giggled until his shook.

For a split-second Douglas wished he had a camera handy. Instead, he settled for a sigh and a lazily drawled, “Let me up, Martin.”

“Uh-uh, feels good,” Martin mumbled thickly, as though his tongue was taking up too much space in his mouth. “Feels _really_ good.” His hips arched, almost involuntarily, rocking against Douglas, and he raised himself up enough to press his face into the crook of Douglas’s neck, mouth hot and wet against Douglas’s skin.

With the way Martin was tangled around Douglas, it made extricating himself something of a chore. The more he shifted, the tighter Martin clung on, digging his heels into the small of Douglas’s back and snaking his arms around until he could knot his fingers into the hair at the nape of Douglas’s neck.

Douglas gave it up for a lost cause and dropped down onto his elbows with an entirely too put upon breath. Martin hummed contentedly, and Douglas did his best not to jerk away when he felt the soft, sloppy pressure of lips against his jaw.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered, half to himself.

“Keep me,” came the quiet reply.

All Douglas could do was let out a long, patient breath and lower his forehead to the mattress. “As if I ever had any other choice.” He sat up slowly, pulling Martin up with him like he knew he would, and tried to unwind Martin’s arms from around his shoulders without being too forceful or losing any of his hair.

The disentangling was slow-going, tiny caresses to calm and ease the clutching need to burrow closer, but eventually Martin yielded and let Douglas coax him from his lap. Before he let go completely though, he brushed his lips against Douglas’s, sweet and beseeching and just a bit off-centre.

Douglas gently laid him down and wrestled the duvet up over him.

“Still lovely,” Martin slurred into his pillow.

Douglas snorted but gave Martin’s leg a comforting pat before climbing into his own bed. He was suddenly exhausted but the bone-deep certainty that he was going to be awake for hours yet settled heavily in his veins. He lie staring up at the ceiling long after he knew Martin had fallen asleep.

~*~

By noon the next morning they were checking out of the hotel and on their way to the airport, Martin a bit worse for wear, but at least running under his own volition. That seemed enough to put Arthur at ease and he chatted quite happily about anything that caught his fancy until they boarded GERTI.

“You feeling up for take-off?” Douglas asked. “Or shall I?”

Martin shifted in his seat, hesitating, then gusted out a weary breath. “You have control,” he said resignedly. “I’m not… I don’t think I’m quite awake yet.”

“Of course, Sir.”

They ran through the rest of the pre-flight checks with methodical precision, settling into a routine, comfortable silence.

When they were finally in the air and safely underway, Martin turned in his seat, the faintest traces of a smile on his lips and said simply, “Douglas, have I ever told you that you have lovely hands?”


End file.
